


spoiled milk

by Witcher_Trash_Party



Series: Witcher Trash Party [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Plug, Bad Ending, Child Abuse, Cock Cages, Daddy Kink, Dark Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Underage, Grooming, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Underage Rape/Non-con, brief Lambert/Jaskier, eskel and lambert are there too, this is pure fucking filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witcher_Trash_Party/pseuds/Witcher_Trash_Party
Summary: Jaskier is nearly eight by the time the last papers are signed and Geralt takes him home in his truck, a small smile on his face.  Geralt makes them dinner and then they settle on the couch in the living room, and Geralt lets Jaskier pick the movie - he chooses something cute and animated he hasn’t seen yet.That’s when the touching starts.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Trash Party [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990582
Comments: 4
Kudos: 172





	spoiled milk

**Author's Note:**

> _"[...] Modern AU!! Geralt adopts a young Jaskier with the intention of making him the perfect cocksleeve. In public, he’s the perfect father, but in private he never lets his little boy off his cock. He ties him up, spanks him til his ass is purple, locks his little cock up (during school too), plugs him up so full he can’t walk he’s so round, and shares him with his brothers when he’s feeling generous. Jaskier is just getting up the courage to tell someone when G decides to homeschool his son so he can enjoy his whore 24/7. "_   
>  [also, DarkBard wrote their own take on this prompt, so definitely go check it out if you haven't already!!!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720865/chapters/68022424)

Jaskier is six when he is taken away from his birth parents.

It happens like this: he's playing with Essi in the stream behind her house. It's the hottest day of the summer so far, so they have stripped down to their underwear, so they could splash each other with cool water. Mrs. Daven goes down to usher them inside for snacks and a glass of lemonade - and she gasps, a soft, heartbroken sound, when she sees Jaskier’s naked back.

His skin is still stained blue and purple and green with the beating his father has administered the day before, the punishment for dropping and breaking a cup. Oh, damn - his father always told him not to show anyone, that they’d know what a terrible child he is.

But Mrs. Daven doesn't scold him. In a strained voice, she tells them to get dressed, and leads them back into the house.

After, she sends Essi to draw, and gives Jaskier an extra biscuit. As he nibbles on it, she asks, “How did you get those bruises on your back?”

Jaskier almost rolls his eyes, because she must know - she surely watched Mr. Daven beat Essi before. Or maybe Essi is too good of a kid to deserve to be beaten? “I was bad. Broke a cup, so dad punished me.”

“How often does your father… punish you?” she asks.

“Whenever I’m bad,” Jaskier says. “...I’m bad a lot.”

“Does your mother know?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shrugs. “Though she’s… away, you know? I don’t think she really cares about what’s going on around her.”

And then Mrs. Daven tells him to go and join Essi, and he does, and they doodle and tell each other stories about their pictures, while Mrs. Daven talks with someone on the phone for a very long time.

And then a man and a woman in uniforms take him away, along with a duffel bag stuffed full of his things - they packed his canary-yellow teddy bear and most of his clothes, but they forgot his flute that he was only allowed to play when his father wasn’t home because he hated how loud it is and said that he’d break every single one of Jaskier’s little fingers if he were to be subjected to his playing. They take pictures of all his bruises, old and fresh, asking him about the origin of each one, and ask him all kinds of questions about his father and his mother.

He lives in the children’s home, from then on. It’s not… perfect, but he doesn’t get beaten anymore, and he has regular talks with a very nice lady who tells him that what his father did to him wasn’t right, and that’s good enough, Jaskier supposes.

Jaskier is a little over seven when Geralt first visits him.

Geralt is huge, even for a grown-up, and he has white hair - but he isn't old, he assures him, it's just _genetics_. He also says that he's lonely, and he's looking for a little boy to fill that gap in his life - he says he'd like to adopt Jaskier, and take him home with him, and raise him and, most importantly, love him.

Being Geralt's son sounds… nice. The children's home is nice, but the thought of being the only child in the house, of having Geralt's attention all to himself without having to share - the thought of living a normal, absolutely ordinary life like most other kids - it's tempting.

When the workers ask him if he likes Geralt, if he'd like to be adopted by him, he says yes.

Thus, the adoption process begins.

Jaskier is nearly eight by the time the last papers are signed and Geralt takes him home in his truck, a small smile on his face. Geralt shows him around the house and then gives him time to settle in. Jaskier unpacks his beat-up duffel bag - unpacks old and secondhand clothing and folds it away neatly into his closet, then perches his yellow teddy bear on the bed. His favourite drawings go into a random drawer, for now - maybe he'll ask Geralt for a cork board to put them up, but he'll think about that later.

Geralt makes them dinner - Jaskier doesn’t pay the meal much attention, he’s vaguely aware that it is much tastier than what they fed them at the children's home, but he’s too… excited to notice anything else. He tries to help Geralt with the dishes afterwards, but he’s awkward in the unfamiliar kitchen, so his help isn’t much help.

When that is out of the way, they settle on the couch in the living room, and Geralt lets Jaskier pick the movie - he chooses something cute and animated he hasn’t seen yet.

That’s when the touching starts.

Geralt pulls him close, so close Jaskier almost ends up in his lap. And Jaskier doesn’t think much of it, instead choosing to focus on the TV - he knows that families are supposed to be tactile, are supposed to hug and hold each other, and Geralt obviously isn’t hitting him like his father did, so that means that it’s okay. It’s unusual, unfamiliar, but Geralt’s warmth is… nice, he guesses, something he could probably get used to in time.

They end the movie with Jaskier pressed into Geralt’s side, one of his big hands warm on Jaskier’s hip, the thumb rubbing idly at Jaskier’s hip bone, the other gently stroking his thigh. It feels a little weird, but Jaskier writes it off as not being used to this.

After, Geralt tucks him in and leaves him to sleep with a goodnight kiss on the lips.

Geralt keeps touching him.

Jaskier likes it, he thinks. It’s nice to have a father that doesn’t beat him, that’s for sure, but he still needs to get used to this loving touch. Geralt holds his hand when they go shopping, so that he doesn’t lose him between the aisles, Geralt hugs him everytime he picks him up from school. Geralt kisses him goodnight every night, pulls Jaskier to sit in his lap when they watch television.

And then Jaskier has a nightmare.

He has been living with Geralt for about a month now. He jerks awake bathed in cold sweat, his heart beating so hard it threatens to jump out of his ribcage, tears drying on his face - he dreamt about his father.

He’s too anxious to fall asleep again, not alone - so he tiptoes out of his room down the hall to Geralt’s bedroom.

The light is on. Geralt is sitting on the bed, working away on his laptop, but he perks up when he sees Jaskier, sniffling and trembling, enter. “Hello, Jaskier,” he says in that pleasant deep rumble, “what’s going on? Can’t sleep?”

“I had a - a nightmare,” Jaskier explains, his throat raw with sleep. “I don’t want to be alone - can I stay with you?”

“Of course, baby boy,” Geralt says. He closes the laptop and sets it aside and makes room for Jaskier on the bed. Jaskier climbs in, and he automatically burrows into Geralt’s side - he’s not used to the touch, yet, but he has already forgotten what it was like to _not_ touch. Geralt wraps an arm around his shoulders and pecks his lips. “Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?”

Jaskier sighs. “It was - it was about my father,” he mumbles. “He was... bad.”

“I know,” Geralt assures him. “Don’t worry, baby, I know.” He kisses Jaskier again. His free hand settles on Jaskier’s butt, to pull him closer into the embrace. “You don’t have to think about your father anymore,” Geralt continues, “because now you live with Daddy. And Daddy is so good to you, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier gives him a wobbly smile. “You’re good, Daddy. I like you.” Jaskier isn’t really feeling the title yet, but it seems that Geralt really wants him to call him _Daddy_ , so Jaskier tries, tries to make him happy.

“I like you too,” Geralt smiles, and it might be Jaskier just seeing things, his mind disorientated after his nightmare, but it looks… sharp. Hungry. “I’m gonna show you how much I like you,” he promises, “make you forget all about your nightmare.”

Geralt peels down Jaskier’s pyjama pants and his big, warm hand caresses Jaskier’s buttocks, before a spit-wet finger slips in between his cheeks and rubs against his hole. Jaskier clenches up on instinct - this is strange. It’s new and weird and he doesn’t know what to think of it. He makes a small questioning noise at the back of his throat.

Geralt keeps rubbing, and kisses him again. “Relax,” he says. And he rubs and presses until the muscle gives and his finger sinks in just the tiniest bit.

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasps. “What - “

“Shh,” Geralt shushes him. “Don’t talk. Just let Daddy make you feel good, okay?”

Jaskier nods.There really isn’t anything much he can do - not that he knows if he wants to do anything. It’s weird that Geralt is putting his finger into Jaskier’s ass, but if it helps… as long as Geralt isn’t taking a belt to his back, Jaskier is happy.

Geralt withdraws, but only to take a tube of something out of his bedside drawer. It’s full of clear liquid, and he covers his fingers with it, and turns his attention back to Jaskier’s hole. It’s wet, and a little cold, but the finger makes its way inside much easier.

It almost doesn’t hurt at all. There’s just the gentle burn of the stretch, and a vague sense of -- pleasure, of all things.

Geralt works three fingers inside him, at which point he just keeps assaulting that spot in Jaskier that makes him see stars, until a wave of intense pleasure rips through him, turning him into a whining, trembling mess. His orgasm is dry, but no less powerful.

And when Jaskier is done, Geralt takes himself in hand and strokes his cock until he comes all over Jaskier’s belly.

“That was good, wasn't it, Jaskier?” Geralt asks, wiping his stomach clean. “Daddy made you feel good?”

“Yes,” Jaskier nods. He’s confused with the events that have just transpired. It felt good, but he can’t really shake the uncomfortable, weird feeling that settles heavy in his gut, that pricks at the skin of his neck.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Geralt insists. “Understood, Jaskier?”

“Why can’t I tell?” Jaskier asks, curious.

“It’s a special thing Daddies do with their little boys. And not talking about it with others is what makes it special. If you told, you would be a bad boy, and I would be very mad, and I would have to punish you. Understood? Do you swear you won’t tell anyone?”

Jaskier doesn’t want Geralt to be mad, he doesn’t want to be punished. And if this is something special, something that Geralt does with him because he loves him that much… then it’s nice, Jaskier supposes. His father didn’t like him - hated him, in fact - so this is a welcome change. To know that Geralt likes him and for him to show it through his actions. Jaskier nods. “I swear.”

From then on, Geralt puts his fingers in Jaskier’s ass every night. After some time, he replaces his fingers with his cock. It’s big and thick and looks… angry, _somehow_ , and Jaskier is a little scared of it, to be honest, because when Geralt puts it in, it burns and hurts. Not too much, and all these encounters end with Jaskier’s orgasm, which makes the pain worthwhile, but it doesn’t mean that Jaskier isn’t uncomfortable. Doesn’t mean he’s looking forward to it.

He assumes it’s just the fact he’s not used to it that’s bothering him - that he would like it if his biological father loved him as much as Geralt does and did this thing with him to show his love to him. After all, he’s still kind of uneasy with Geralt’s other touches, so it makes sense.

He really wishes he liked this. He knows there must be something wrong with him if he doesn’t appreciate Geralt showing his affection, and he doesn’t want to offend the man, doesn’t want to offend him when he makes him warm meals and offers him a warm bed in a warm home, when he buys him toys and new clothes and coloured pencils. So Jaskier grits his teeth and bears the discomfort and kisses Geralt on the mouth, the way he likes it.

He can learn to like this. He will. He doesn’t, not right now, but he _will_.

Geralt grunts and finishes inside him, hot liquid filling up Jaskier’s guts. He pulls out, and Jaskier already knows how this goes: Geralt will wipe whatever has spilled around his hole, and then he’ll carry him into the bath and have Jaskier squat down until all of Geralt’s seed drips out, because he doesn’t want Jaskier soiling his briefs or sheets.

Except that doesn’t happen.

Something cold and solid nudges at Jaskier’s hole, and then it slides inside before settling in his body.

After having Geralt’s cock there, Jaskier’s loose enough that it doesn’t hurt, but it definitely doesn’t feel nice.

“Daddy?” Jaskier questions and reaches between his legs, fingers brushing the flat, hard base of the thing lodged in his ass. There’s something engraved on it. The shift of it, caused by this tiny, gentle touch, makes Jaskier gasp.

“That’s a plug, Jaskier,” Geralt explains, tapping the base. “It’s to keep Daddy’s come inside you, so that you can carry a piece of Daddy everywhere with you, reminding you that Daddy loves you very much, baby.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says. That is nice.

“It will also keep you stretched open, so that you’re always ready for special time with Daddy. Do you like it, Jaskier?”

Jaskier… likes being loved. Likes that Geralt loves him. Likes Geralt. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “I like it.”

“It’s a part of our special time,” Geralt reminds him, “so you can’t tell anyone about this, too. You want to keep our special time special, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me to be mad at you, do you?”

“No.”

“You don’t want to be punished, do you?”

“No.”

“Good,” Geralt smiles, and taps the plug again. “Let’s tuck you in.”

Jaskier doesn’t sleep well that night, the foreign shape inside him keeping him awake. He thinks of Geralt’s love with every minute shift of his body, and that’s nice, he supposes.

It’s distracting, thinking of Geralt’s love at school, but Jaskier gets used to it.

When Geralt tells him Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert are coming over, Jaskie assumes there will be no special time today. (He doesn’t mind, not really, since he still hasn’t taught himself to love it like he should.)

He’s wrong.

Geralt offers his brothers beer, and when they are all sitting in the living room, Jaskier goes to play with the new lego set Geralt got him for his birthday - he wants to show it to his uncles, too, he thinks they’ll like it, it has pirates - but Geralt stops him.

“Jaskier, strip,” he orders.

Jaskier doesn’t get what’s going on, why are Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert watching him so intently - but he knows that it’s better to do as Geralt says. He’s the grown-up, he knows best. Jaskier strips.

“Show Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert your pretty plug.”

“But you said - “ Jaskier starts, because Geralt told him that the plug is a part of their special time and that means he can never tell anyone about it or show it to them - but the look that Geralt gives him cuts him off.

“It’s okay,” Geralt says. “Eskel and Lambert can see your plug,” he reassures, “I won’t be mad. Eskel and Lambert are the only people that can know about out special time and it will still be special, Jaskier. Show them.”

So Jaskier does. He turns his back to them, gets on his knees and presses his chest to chest ground, reaching back with both hands to spread his cheeks and hold himself open, the way Geralt taught him to, showing his plugged hole to his uncles just like he shows it to Geralt whenever he asks.

He has noticed that Geralt likes looking at it. Probably likes to see the reminder of his love, too - Jaskier has seen the engraving, there’s _Daddy’s Buttercup_ written on the base of the pastel pink plug in a neat cursive font.

“Wonderful,” Eskel mumbles. “What a pretty, obedient boy you have, Geralt.”

There’s a touch on the plug, and then it’s being pulled out. A warm body leans over him. A finger prods at his hole, plays with his rim, and Jaskier freezes. That’s not Geralt touching him.

“Daddy?” he asks.

“Don’t worry, Jaskier,” Geralt tells him. “Eskel and Lambert heard all about what a good boy you are and they love you so much they want to have some special time with you, too. So just relax and let it happen, okay, baby?”

Jaskier nods. He has never had this much love in his life. Three people loving him enough to do this with him. How did he get so lucky? And why is he still an ungrateful brat that finds receiving their love uncomfortable?

“It’s alright, little guy,” Lambert chuckles, “don’t be nervous, just be good for me. Okay?”

“Okay, Uncle Lambert,” Jaskier says, and then Lambert is pushing his cock into him.

When they’re finished with him, he’s so stuffed full of their cum that it rounds his belly. He’s plugged again, and then he lies on the floor as Geralt and his brothers drink their beer, because his stomach feels too heavy for him to move.

“What is this, Daddy?”

The thing is plastic and pink, the same colour as his plug. It has a little ring, connected to a short, bulbous hollow shape with a hole at the top. There’s a tiny lock on it as well, holding the ring and the shape together. Geralt has presented him with his gift after he called Jaskier into his bed for their special time, and Jaskier is very lost.

“This,” Geralt explains, unlocking the lock and letting the contraption fall apart, “is a cage, for your cute little cocklet.” He flicks the aforementioned cocklet to bring Jaskier’s attention to it.

“What does it do?”

“Well, it keeps your prick adorable and tiny, like it is now. And it stops you from having special time without me, because that’s very selfish. Yes, yes, don’t act so surprised - I’m the one doing the laundry, so I’ve noticed the mess you leave in your briefs, and I’ve also noticed the tissues in your garbage can. It’s very naughty to have special time on your own.”

Jaskier feels his face burning with shame. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” he whispers, “I didn’t know.”

“I know, Jaskier,” Geralt smiles reassuringly. “That’s why I won’t punish you, only help you not to do it again. You want to be a good boy, don’t you? And good boys aren’t selfish and don’t play with their cocklets when their Daddy isn’t around.”

“Yes Daddy,” Jaskier readily agrees - he’ll say anything, do anything, to be forgiven. He doesn’t want to be a bad boy. He wants to be good. “I won’t do it again, I swear!”

“Of course you won’t,” Daddy says, “that’s what the cage is for.”

And he pulls Jaskier’s little balls and his tiny cocklet through the ring, and slips the hollow shape onto Jaskier’s prick, and then locks it together.

It’s another reminder of Daddy’s love, Jaskier knows. Doesn’t mean it’s nice to have on. Doesn’t mean it’s comfortable. Combined with the plug, staying focused in class is proving to be more and more difficult.

When Geralt picks up Jaskier from school on that fateful Friday, he doesn’t hug him. That’s a first.

“I’m very mad at you,” is the first thing he says. “Do you know why, Jaskier?”

“...no,” Jaskier whispers, feeling guilty for not knowing his misdeeds. He curls into himself - clenching on the plug in the process. He gasps.

Geralt grabs his hand and leads him to the car. They climb in, Geralt starts the engine, they drive.

“The school called me today,” Geralt speaks up again after a while, staring straight ahead. “Told me you are constantly fidgeting, and can’t focus in class.”

Jaskier gulps. He knows, he _knows_ \- he can’t help it, but the reminders of Geralt’s love are just _so_ uncomfortable, so distracting - he’s _still_ not used to them, but he can’t tell Geralt that, because he would sound ungrateful, and if he were being ungrateful then he’d be an even badder boy than he is being right now.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” is what he says instead.

Geralt sighs. “I guess I’ve expected too much of you,” he says. “I know school only bores you, that you only care about our special time - it’s okay, you don’t need to deny it. You can’t focus because you’re a cockdumb little whore, constantly thinking about Daddy’s dick, aren’t you?”

Well, that’s true. He _is_ constantly thinking about Geralt’s cock. He’s still a little scared of it. Jaskier nods.

“It’s okay,” Geralt repeats. “I’m not mad - but I’ll have to punish you, since you’ve been a bad boy.”

And Jaskier nods again.

They arrive home, and Geralt orders Jaskier to strip. Geralt sits on the couch in the living room, and pats his lap for Jaskier to hop up on it. Once Jaskier is there, Geralt manipulates his body so that Jaskier is bent over his knees, staring at the ground, plugged ass on display.

And then Geralt hits it. The slap echoes around the room, and then sharp, hot pain erupts on Jaskier’s skin. He shouts.

Geralt delivers another slap. And another. By then, Jaskier is wailing, his little ass burning. Geralt doesn’t care - he hits Jaskier again, and again, and again, hitting his sensitive thighs as well, but mainly focusing on Jaskier’s ass.

Jaskier loses count of the hits - he’s crying too hard not to, hyperventilating, tears and snot mixing on his face. But as Geralt is hiting him, he remembers -

_father’s belt, whipping across his back -_

_father’s heavy boots, kicking his stomach -_

_father’s hand, slapping his cheek, pulling at his hair -_

_father’s cigarette, burning the skin of his back that one time -_

\- he remembers. He remembers, and that was bad, just like this is, because good fathers don’t hurt their children like this. The lady at the children’s home said he should tell an adult in case something like this happens, so he _will_. He’ll tell Mr. Chireadan, his favourite teacher, first thing in the morning when he goes to school on Monday again.

“It’s okay,” Geralt murmurs, “don’t cry, baby. Your punishment is over.”

But Jaskier just keeps crying, because no one ever loves him - people just hurt him, and hurt him, and hurt him again. Why does he have such rotten luck?

“Don’t worry, I made it easy for you,” Geralt continues. “No more fidgeting in class, no more losing focus. I told them I’d be homeschooling you from now on. No more school, Jaskier, that sounds amazing, doesn’t it?”

Jaskier’s whole world shatters.

_No more school?_

That means… No more Mr. Chireadan. No more adults that aren’t Geralt or Uncle Eskel or Uncle Lambert.

_He has no one to tell._

Jaskier sobs harder.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr as [@witchertrashparty](https://witchertrashparty.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
